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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24831136">The Long Grass of Routine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/foldingcranes/pseuds/foldingcranes'>foldingcranes</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Attempt at Humor, Curtain Fic, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, No Spoilers, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:34:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,439</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24831136</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/foldingcranes/pseuds/foldingcranes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a thorough reconnaissance, Dean comes back with a short and long list of projects that need to happen to the house. On the short list: fix the plumbing, get rid of the mold, re-do the stairs to the basement before someone falls down them and breaks their neck (probably Dean, he’s being honest here), replace the windows on the second floor.</p><p>On the long list: sell the goddamn house because it's a money pit.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>ProfoundBond Exchange: Quarantine &amp; Chill, The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Long Grass of Routine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaddysGracelessAngel/gifts">DaddysGracelessAngel</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>- Dear Candy Boi: I'm sorry it took me so long to post this fic, but I was in urgent need of someone taking a second, third and maybe even fourth look at it before it was worthy of becoming a gift. I wandered around your AO3 profile and got an idea of what you could be into so, I really hope you like this. I wrote it with love!<br/>- This fic doesn't COMPLETELY follow the quarantine theme of the challenge but it does... talk about isolation, to a certain extent. I'm sorry, I'm terrible.<br/>- I owe my life to stuffy_j, as always, because she kicked my ass into gear and helped me engineer this fic. THANKS FRIEND.<br/>- Many thanks to WeAreTheLuckyOnes for their excellent beta reading skills!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The ad says it's a 3-bed, 2-bath farmhouse with an updated kitchen. It's not much to look at from the outside, and Cas won't let him break in when Dean eyes the door--</span>
  <em>
    <span>if they're going legitimate, then they need to act like it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Cas points out. One of the shutters on an upstairs window clacks ominously in the wind, but Dean lets it slide. The house sits on four acres of property and the nearest neighbor is a mile away, but, he figures, they're well-equipped enough to take on any sort of supernatural nastiness that might be hiding inside anyway. They sign for it quickly, the process smoothed over with Charlie's endless supply of ill-gotten gains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the day they get the keys, Dean parks the Impala out front, armed with rock salt and iron and EMFs readers. He may be retired, but that doesn't mean he's stupid.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Turns out they don't need any ghosthunting gear. Instead, their new place is kind of a dump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their first night there, Cas gets a case of the Sneezes and Dean finds generous amounts of mold behind the walls. It looks so evil and disgusting he’s actually tempted to try and fight the stuff with a couple of salt rounds until he realizes how useless that would be. Cas drags his feet all over the place the next morning and doesn’t even perk up when Dean finally blesses him with the holy gift of the first cup of coffee of the day, nor does he offer any help when Dean sits at their dilapidated (and definitely temporary) breakfast table and declares that he’s going to take a closer, more complete look at their place and start an inventory of shit that needs to be fixed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turns out, there’s a lot of shit to be fixed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both bathrooms need to be renovated, since every single faucet is so outdated and rusted that there’s a persistent leak that won’t let Dean sleep. The first time he used the sink to wash his hand led him to discover that, if he doesn’t step up his game, their new and not-so-shiny house will end up so flooded it’ll turn into an ark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which would suck, because the floors are in such a crappy state that they would sink faster than the Titanic. Dean goes back to the living room, defeated and wet (and not in the good way), takes one look at Cas napping on the couch, and feels a sudden surge of sympathy for Jack.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You could make some room for me,” he grumbles, exhausted and grumpy, and still salty over Cas not offering to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas does him the courtesy of opening an eye, making a sleepy humming noise. “But I’m comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he goes back to sleep. Fucker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a thorough reconnaissance, Dean comes back with a short and long list of projects that need to happen to the house. On the short list: fix the plumbing, get rid of the mold, re-do the stairs to the basement before someone falls down them and breaks their neck (probably Dean, he’s being honest here), replace the windows on the second floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the long list: sell the goddamn house because it's a money pit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a sudden, unexpected wave of longing in Dean’s chest when he thinks about the bunker and his comfy room. The first room he ever had and, eventually, the first room he ever shared with Cas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, it was dusty and cold and way too fucking big, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> it did have a torture dungeon, but it was the first place where Dean could settle since early childhood and at least it wasn’t falling apart and threatening Dean’s physical integrity with multiple stupid accidents. It wasn’t home, but at least it wasn’t trying to kill him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things would be easier, maybe, if trying to fix their house on his own didn’t feel so incredibly </span>
  <em>
    <span>daunting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The first night, Dean runs a mental list of the things he compiled as Cas snores next to him. He contemplates anti-mold paint and hardwood floors as he rests his ear on top of Cas’ chest, and listens to the soothing rhythm of Cas’ very human heart, endeared by all the annoyingly human things Cas does now. Like the fact that he turns into a chainsaw when he sleeps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean loves him a lot, but he's also ten seconds away from suffocating him with a pillow if he doesn't stop fucking snoring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s also really close to wanting to murder him again in the morning, when Cas leaves the bed three hours after Dean’s gotten up and chooses to go running instead of trying to help Dean work on the floors. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Running</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Because that’s a thing Cas does now, ever since Sam helped him find an outlet for all the newfound human energy and frustrations that Cas started feeling after his Grace officially started dwindling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas disappears for at least two hours -to connect with nature or something- and comes back home looking all sweaty and hot (mmm), plasters a sweaty kiss to Dean’s lips, says “I think I’m going to shower now” and then spends another solid hour in the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean is still working on the damned floors. It’s fine, it’s cool, he’s got this. He tried to teach Cas how to re-grout the bathroom when they first moved in, but he quickly lost interest in the fascinating world of Manly Home Renovations and fucked off to… somewhere, then showed up for bed looking all (fake) apologetical and extending an arm on the pillow so Dean would stop glaring daggers at him and crawl into bed for cuddles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It worked, because Dean is a cuddleslut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas is still… learning how to settle into certain human behaviors and Dean highly suspects he's also learning to re-settle into </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which it’s why he refuses to give the guy grief over saying “no thanks” every time he asks him to do something. But the more DIY accidents Dean has, the more time and effort he has to spend fixing their place, and the lonelier he starts to feel. Cas disappears into his rituals without ever giving a proper explanation, and Dean just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deflates</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wishes Cas would show more interest in the things Dean is doing for their home, because having to do everything on his own means that he’s been spending a lot of time alone, and that’s kind of the opposite of what Dean was looking for when they finally had the guts to retire and settle down.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Disappointed</span>
  </em>
  <span> is a word that hangs at the tip of Dean’s tongue, and his bad mood only manages to make him more careless. Next thing he knows, he goes from trying to fix the roof to fucking up his back and feeling overjoyed because Cas is taking time out of his busy mysterious agenda to baby him. If Dean had been younger, if this had happened ten years ago, when Dean was fresh out of hell and ready to stab first and ask questions later and Cas was an absolute dick, </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he would have resented it. But he’s old and he doesn’t remember the last time he and Cas spent quality time together since finally giving up the gun, so. Sue him. He’s needy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas grumbles and paces around the room, making Dean drink something warm to swallow down the pain pills Cas won’t allow him to abuse, something almost fragile lodged in his throat as Cas sits at the edge of the bed and frowns at him while Dean proves how needy he is by grabbing Cas’ hand, “Hey, don’t go” out of his lips before Dean can’t even blink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should be more careful,” Cas says, eyes just a tad soft, playing with his fingers in that way Dean won’t admit he loves. “You’re not twenty anymore, Dean, you can’t go around falling off like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well,” Dean snorts, trying to disguise the fact that he’s slightly offended. “Maybe, if you had been there to help me, I wouldn’t have fallen at all, bud,” he jokes. Because Dean is an idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas’ silence and the way his eyes shutter, the unhappy, downturned line of his mouth, are enough to show Dean that he has, as always, completely fucked up. “I’ll let you sleep,” Cas grunts, and next thing he knows, Dean is alone again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s starting to become a pattern.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Redecorating becomes Dean’s emergency plan.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The renovations are going well, if a little slow, since he’s the only one doing all the work. Cas keeps slipping away in favor of running and gardening because that’s the only thing about their home that Cas cares about. Dean had offered to help, as an excuse to spend more time together, but Cas shot him down pretty quickly. He returns every night covered in dirt, looking tired but less displeased than before, asking Dean what’s for dinner and showering for the second time that day, making use of the shitty plumbing that Dean hasn’t had the chance to replace yet because his life sucks major balls. By the time he’s done with his jobs for the day and ready for bed, Cas has tucked himself in and fallen asleep so deeply that there’s nothing left to do for Dean but to snuggle up to his side and cling onto him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So. Redecorating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Home renovations aren’t Cas’ thing, that’s become pretty clear by now. Dean knows when to give up, and he’s old enough to pick his own battles more carefully. For reasons yet unexplained, Cas is a huge fan of the act of wandering aimlessly around store aisles and staring at random items. He doesn’t necessarily care about shopping, because Cas wouldn’t give two shits about earthly possessions, but he does like to… observe. Contemplate things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which it’s why Dean decides to take him shopping for furniture. They don’t have a lot of things yet and he’s been living in fear of their kitchen table giving up on them, a clear cry for help courtesy of their lovely and still weirdly empty work-in-progress-house. The empty spaces have started to make Dean feel uncomfortable, unable to shake off the feeling of living in a temporary situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or like they’re living in the house from </span>
  <em>
    <span>House of Leaves</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because the stupid place feels so much bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Furniture. They need furniture. And maybe softer bedsheets, because Dean is sporting a weird rash on an ass cheek after the last time they had sex. He must be reaching that point where everything is about to get extra difficult for his poor aging body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alas, Dean is doing the mental equivalent of rambling because IKEA always brings out the most introspective parts of his mind. There’s something about the excessive light, the well-organized aisles, and absurd amount of white and grey-colored objects. Cas must not be sharing his enthusiasm, because he’s standing next to Dean and looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there. He seems sulky and annoyed after asking Dean if they could go home soon because he was planning to start planting some tomatoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just get some ketchup bottles, Cas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a helpful suggestion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe, he considers, they aren’t in the right place. IKEA feels a little juvenile for two grown-ass men to shop at, but it’s not like they’re drowning in cash. They don’t even have jobs, for fuck’s sake, all they do is abuse Charlie’s Crime Magical Credit Card and fake the occasional feelings of remorse. Shopping should be… easier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think about this?” Dean asks, a hand on his chin as he considers a big, fake black leather couch. It makes him think of his car, but Cas makes a grumpy sound of contempt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It looks squeaky,” he scoffs, and then looks the other way, effectively ending the conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It looks nice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Classy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Dean insists, starting to feel agitated. Cas rolls his eyes at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve never been classy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, maybe I want our house to look classy.”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cas scoffs. “I doubt that’s going to happen any time soon, Dean, it’s falling apart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. That stings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something tight and ugly wrapping around Dean’s heart and taking over his chest, because Cas’ words prove that he’s been paying attention to the effort Dean’s been putting into fixing their dump of a place, but everything about Cas’ attitude screams that he’s chosen to ignore it. Cas obviously doesn’t care as much as Dean does and whenever Dean wonders about the reasons </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> Cas wouldn’t care, he always comes up with the same answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas doesn’t actually want to be there with Dean. And yeah, maybe it seems like a bit of a reach, but Dean is </span>
  <em>
    <span>lonely.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lately, he’s been feeling like he and Cas exist in completely separate orbits.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows past the lump in his throat and says, anger boiling under his skin, “Look Cas, if you don’t want this, you can just say it, y’know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas frowns, even has the nerve to look confused. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This!” Dean barks, uncaring of the lady a few couches away who’s trying really hard to pretend she’s not listening to their argument by staring too much at chevron-patterned chairs. “You don’t want to help me fix our damn house? Fine. I get it. You don’t like that shit, that’s okay. But now it turns out you don’t even care about what we put in it—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why’s that, huh? This is literally the easiest part, but all you’ve done is complain and drag your feet, so if you could be honest for once and tell me that you don’t—that you don’t want to have a home with me,” Dean stops, taking a moment midway his rant to allow himself to breathe before his voice breaks. He’s been rooted to his spot since he started talking, but now he’s not sure if he can stay there and stand before the pity on Cas’ face. “Look, I’ve just gotta—Go. I need to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring Cas’ angrily calling his name, Dean runs. Because he’s too much of a coward to stay there and hear Cas tell him that it’s all been a mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean ends up at the mattress aisle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s never shopped for a mattress, since he just stole the one he claimed when he and Sam moved into the bunker. Now that he thinks about it, he didn’t ask Cas if he wanted to keep that mattress, and maybe that was an oversight on Dean’s part. He's a sentimental idiot and he wanted to keep the memory foam mattress where Cas rocked his entire world.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’s had too many orgasms on it and it was hard to let it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, laying on a brand-new mattress, staring at the ceiling lights as a nervous-looking IKEA employee hovers near Dean, he wonders if buying the house was, indeed, a mistake.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cas never said, specifically, “I want a house.” One day, Sam and Eileen bid their goodbyes and moved to their own place. The first time Dean visited, he immediately felt bad. Because he was jealous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was cozy and warm, full of things that reminded him of Sam and Eileen, evidence that they were building a life together, a life Dean wanted for him and Cas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just never stopped to think if Cas wanted the same thing. If Dean is being honest with himself, he can admit that he was afraid of directly asking Cas about what he wanted, since Cas had so much going on at the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas’ Grace dwindled and flickered until it finally, gently shut off, until Cas woke up one day and realized he had slept more than twelve hours and was so hungry he could have fainted. Dean held him and brushed his lips against his sweaty temple, kissed away his tears, held Cas’ hands and didn’t pray anymore, because Dean only ever prayed to Cas and he wouldn’t be able to hear it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he’s such a selfish asshole. Even the comfy mattress underneath his body can’t distract him from his pathetic heartache, what an idiot—</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dean Winchester?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean blinks, taking a moment before realizing that his name is coming out of the store’s speakers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dean Winchester, please come to the customer help counter, your husband is looking for you—Sir, no, you can’t take that, you’re not allowed to do that, give it back—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dean,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Cas’ gruff voice comes out of the speakers.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Dean, I’m sorry. Please let me explain. I didn’t mean to make you feel sad.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, Cas sounds so miserable that Dean is jumping out of the display bed and bidding the comfy mattress goodbye before he even knows what he’s doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(And before Cas narrates all their marital problems to the entire store.)</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Cas wraps him in a hug when he finally reaches the customer help counter. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles gruffly, his lips pressed to the skin of Dean’s neck, right above the collar of his shirt.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Dean hugs him back and rests his temple on Cas’ strong shoulder, definitely less uncertain than before. “Alright, okay. It’s okay, buddy,” he kisses Cas’ cheek just in case, just for reassurance, and Cas’ hold on him gets tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he lets go of him only to cradle Dean’s face in his big hands, swiping his thumb over one of his cheekbones and Dean automatically leans against his touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I haven’t been much help,” he says. He looks sad, something Dean’s never been able to stand.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Cas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not,” Cas huffs. “Dean, I never meant to make you think that I don’t want us to have a home. There’s nothing I want more than to build a home with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But… The truth is that. I feel useless. I’m frustrated. I don’t think I can do the things you do, Dean,” Cas smiles, but it’s self-deprecating and small. “I tried the first couple of days, but I just kept making a mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas,” Dean rests his hands on top of Cas’ own, feeling, once again, like a complete tool (appropriate, considering the topic of their conversation.) “Cas, why didn’t you tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Cas frowns. “And I do hate feeling useless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cas, you asshole,” Dean laughs, but the elastic band surrounding his heart is finally vanishing. “You could never be useless. Look, if you really want to learn, I’ll make sure to teach you properly. But if you don’t, that’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to learn,” Cas finally stops frowning and starts smiling. “I’ve been working on our garden. I’ve made a lot of progress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why didn’t you show me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted it to be a surprise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sap,” Dean laughs, leaning to press a soft kiss to Cas’ lips, swallowing the happy noise Cas makes. “You wanna go home now?”</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Cas grabs his hand and starts walking away from the counter and back to the aisles. “Since we’re still here, maybe we should actually pick something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinning like a maniac, Dean starts walking faster. “I have the perfect idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I think,” Cas starts, sounding amused. “That you miscalculated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe our bed was too small for our new mattress,” Dean whines, parking his ass unceremoniously on said mattress. “We’ll have to get a bigger one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a tragedy,” Cas deadpans.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop pretending you aren’t happy about this,” Dean huffs, shifting so he’s resting on his elbows. “You spend more time in bed than I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True,” Cas sits next to Dean, then moves until he’s hovering on top of him, leaning for a kiss that Dean is more than happy to give him. It starts soft and a little languid, because it’s been a long day, but then Cas gets hungry in the way he always gets, messy and a little desperate, tongue and teeth, fingers carding Dean’s hair until they’re grabbing at the strands, his other hand resting at the base of Dean’s neck like a promise. One of his thick thighs nudges Dean’s legs open, making Dean gasp softly. “Cas,” he sighs, a little breathy, and then Cas is going lower, leaving a trail of kisses on Dean’s chest, rucking up Dean’s chest so he can nip and suck at his nipples until he’s squirming and his pants feel too tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dean,” Cas says, voice rough, and he sounds so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry</span>
  </em>
  <span> it makes Dean want to cry. Cas’ paws at his jeans until he’s clumsily helping Dean out of them, and then his hands are back all over him, petting the inside of Dean’s thighs just the way he likes it, because no one knows how to touch him better than Cas does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” He asks, so full of gravel, pressing a kiss to the crease between Dean’s hip and thigh, nuzzling his skin with a stubbly cheek. Cas still doesn’t know how to shave, Dean is the one who usually does it, straddling Cas’ lap and leaning close to him, both in their underwear. It’s good, it’s intimate, and he’s definitely going to give Cas a close shave tomorrow. But not today. Today is for beard burn, for the wonderful, prickly feeling of Cas’ strong jaw leaving marks on Dean’s inner thighs as he kisses the base of his dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just you,” Dean says, hand going to grip at Cas’ messy dark hair. “’Missed you. Missed this,” he says, mostly to himself, but loud enough for Cas to hear. “If you blow me, I’m not gonna last,” Cas makes a huffing noise, holding back a chuckle. Dean can feel the vibration against his dick, and it’s enough to drive him a little crazy. “C’mere,” and he tugs at Cas insistently, almost on the edge of desperation. Drags him in for a hot, messy kiss, fingernails scraping against Cas’ broad back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No blowjob?” Cas asks, sounding amused, nipping at Dean’s lower lip and licking into his mouth until Dean’s panting, Cas’ fingers skittering on his chest, back to paying attention to Dean’s nipples, teasing and pulling as they kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Dean says, more than a little antsy. “Won’t last.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas pulls off, mouth wet and red, Dean panting </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside me, Cas, fuck me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like a mantra. Then, after a few seconds of clumsy fumbling for lube, Cas’ fingers—so wet and thick, because Cas has giant-man hands— slide into him just </span>
  <em>
    <span>right,</span>
  </em>
  <span> pulling a keening noise out of Dean’s mouth, prompting him to spread his legs wider so Cas can claim his rightful place. He’s grunting, panting, calling Dean’s name in that way that makes him feel like he’s undeserving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, man,” Dean whines, clawing at the sheets, drawing a smile out of Cas with his impatience. He kisses the bridge of Dean’s noise and maybe he’s feeling more like an angel of the lord and less like a little shit, because he grabs one of Dean’s thighs to spread him properly. The next thing Dean knows, he’s pushing inside, slowly and indulgent, just the tip at first, teasing, until Dean makes that sobbing noise Cas loves so much and he bottoms out, splitting him open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nex time,” Cas pants, voice hot and thick like molten lava, “next time we’re breaking this bed properly, Dean. Next time I’m taking my time to open you up. I’ll eat you out first, just the way you like it,” he keeps babbling, thrusting in and out, feeling so big and so deep inside of Dean. The novelty never wears off, not for Dean, every time Cas pushes inside feels sacred and a bit like a miracle, because Cas looked past the mess that Dean was and chose </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Dean is Cas’ to love and cherish, Dean is the reason Cas’ heart beats and bleeds and <em>feels</em>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabs at Cas’ shirt (and how hot is that he never took it off?), fisting his fingers into it, panting kisses into Cas’ jaw, a leg wrapping around Cas’ side so he can press against him, pulling him closer to match the death grip Cas has on his hips. Cas’ rocks into him, the smooth glide of his dick keeping Dean on edge and then making him arch his back once he’s punching his prostate again, and again, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas kisses the corner of his mouth, his grip on Dean’s hips becoming so tight they both know he’s going to leave bruises there, stroking Dean’s dick once, twice with his other hand until Dean’s coming with a loud sob, spilling into Cas’ big fingers. “Keep going, buddy,” Dean says, still breathless, his eyes closed, body sweaty and shivery. Cas mumbles nonsense against his ears until he’s coming too, fucking into Dean’s body even after his cock softens and his come starts spilling out of Dean’s ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Dean says, once Cas finally decides to stay still, settling into post-coital snuggles with his hand on Dean’s belly and his chin on Dean’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cas’ answering smile is beautiful and content, completely sated. It makes Dean want to give him everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Dean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They reach a compromise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dean drives them to a gardening store a few kilometers away from their farmhouse, then kindly allows Cas to go as wild as he wants. They get the proper materials and seeds, and all the equipment they could need, then go back home to start working on Cas’ personal project. All the interest Cas lacked when it came to home renovations gets poured into making sure that their garden looks amazing, and Dean chooses to give Cas a hand with the basics before letting him fly solo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The project suits Cas much better and it gives them something to enjoy together: when Cas starts producing giant monster vegetables, Dean’s the first one to make use of them in the kitchen. By that point, Dean’s so close to finish fixing their home he can actually taste victory. Cas even plays the I’m a Blessing to All Husbands card and helps him paint it bright blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it’s over, the house looks so different from the old ramshackle they bought months ago, Dean thinks he’s going to cry. He sits on the brand-new porch, a beer in his hand and Cas next to him, their thighs brushing. Cas offers his shoulder so Dean can rest his head on it as the sun goes down. There, with their fingers laced together and the warmth of Cas’ body, Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever feel lonely again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s good to be home.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You can yell at me on <a href="https://twitter.com/foldingcranes">twitter</a>, I guess.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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